Thanks to Tara, I’m on time (sort of) with birthday wishes. For once. I saw this blossom on Saturday evening, as I made an exhausted, bedraggled return from an exhausting, bedraggling day of doing that employment thing. I saw this blossom in the most unlikely of places: in an alley behind a fast food place that specializes in the lowest of low end fast food. It’s one of the numerous Maxwell Street Polish sausage joints that Chicago is actually known for. It’s so low end it’s chic, and—admittedly—the Maxwell Street style sausages are up to East European quality. They’re served, of course, on a bun. The thing is, the bun is slathered in mustard before the sizzling kielbasa is put in place, and then a mass of sodden, over-steamed onions are plopped on top. An optional garnish of hot pepper is free, as are the unusually-delicious frenchfries. Anyway, this isn’t an image concerning a bit of Chicago flavor, despite the fact that it’s an interesting bit of Chicago flavor. There’s a whole history to Maxwell Street—at one time, known by a far more politically-incorrect name. A part of Maxwell Street, known as…um…well, a less dubious name for the region would simply be “The Jewish Quarter” is the part of Chicago the fast food joint (a glorified kiosk) hails from. It was displaced when gentrification took over the area. The old Maxwell Street is no longer there, and so you must travel to some of the more seedy parts of Chicago’s far south side to get a good cholesterol fest with over-steamed steamed onion on top. But this isn’t about that. It’s about a birthday dedication, based on two exceptionally tall, exceptionally colorful, rather adventurous plants. I don’t know what the plants are, but I know that they grow exceptionally fast. They’re incredibly hearty and shamelessly attractive. They’re also coated in a rather flagrant, lethal sheathing of thorns. Two such plants have decided to grow where no plant has grown before, and I could not resist capturing them. They’re beginning to flower and their blossoms—as expected from so well-defended a plant species—are shamelessly flamboyant. The pre-blossom buds are an exercise in fractal complexity: a bit like artichokes mated with razor blades. What I liked most about these plants—what I will like most about them in the future—is that their flowers start off as hard, unfriendly, sharp, gnarly things, and then poof! they open into incredibly soft, though eye-searing riots of unadulterated excitement. I don’t have a garden of my own, but if I did, I’d find a way to plant at least two of these. I also suspect they’d serve as security devices, as their thorns look lethal and the plants they protect look a bit like those carnivorous b-movie triffids that I’m rather fond of. This is the first of the successful photos I managed to take of the blossoms. It was a windy day, and lighting conditions were…um…well…not that bad, but the wind was uncooperative, and so I decided to use my built-in flash, and get as close as I dared to the specimen in question. This is the result of such action, and I learned two things: I was able to see (without experiencing the pointy bits) that these are amazing, gorgeous, untouchable plants, and they have an oddly pleasant, wholly vegetative smell. They were enough to bring wonder into an otherwise wonder-less day, and though I can’t identify them yet, they’ve vaulted onto my list of favorite plants, right up there with those moth-sheltering sky-scrapers commonly recognized as mulleins. As I like these, immensely, I and since it’s Andrea’s birthday, I decided to dedicate this image to Andrea. Happy Birthday, Andrea… As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.